


Your Mouth is Poison, Your Mouth is Wine

by JustAWinchesterGirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bi!Dean, Bi!sam, Incest, Incestuous Sex, M/M, Wincest - Freeform, because like come on that boy is such a fucking bottom, bottom!Dean, i do not condone incest in any way shape or form i just love these boys, mentions of Sam/Jess but it's not the pairing, okay have fun, this is wincest, very angsty, very smutty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-05-31 22:33:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6489979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAWinchesterGirl/pseuds/JustAWinchesterGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn’t need to say it. They’ve never needed to say it. They know, they would die for each other, have died for each other, and there’s nothing stronger than this. Dean knows that he loves him. Dean doesn’t need to know how much. </p><p>Wincest.</p><p>Title taken from the song Poison & Wine by The Civil Wars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Mouth is Poison, Your Mouth is Wine

_I don’t have a choice, but I still choose you._

Sam had always known his brother was good looking. As soon as he’d turned seventeen and left that awkward, gangly phase behind that happened after his growth spurt, it was evident. Sam, being only thirteen at the time, didn’t really know what that meant and didn’t pay much attention to it, until Dean started bringing girls back to whatever motel they were calling home that week.

Sam was still kind of just leaving his “girls have cooties” stage, and when he was fourteen and puberty hit him full force, he couldn’t quite keep his curiosity at bay. It wasn’t _entirely_ his fault. Dean wasn’t exactly subtle about it. Sometimes he’d send Sam off to the library to research whatever case they were currently working on, but when he got home he’d catch Dean with some chick in his bed. That’s when Dean taught him about the sock on the doorknob thing, but sometimes Sam just pretended not to see it. Sometimes Dean would just shove Sam into the closet, and give him a wink, and a portable cassette player so he wouldn’t have to hear his brother’s exploits. Sam never listened to it. Sometimes, Dean would even sneak a girl in when he thought Sam was sleeping and tell her to be quiet as they slipped into the bed next to his. Sam was never really asleep.

When he started touching himself to the sounds of his brother getting it on, he told himself he found the girl attractive, or that it was just the act of sex that turned him on, that he was imagining himself bringing some chick home the way his brother did. But when he snuck a peek at the other bed, he never really noticed the girl. He couldn’t even tell you what she looked like. All he saw was his brother. And Dean was good looking. Sam had always known that. But now it was different somehow.

Sam didn’t admit to himself that he was attracted to his brother until he was seventeen. He panicked, wondering if it was just guys in general that he was into, or if it was only his big brother… and how messed up it would make him if it was. He swallowed the feelings down, stuffed the thoughts to the back of his mind, and avoided Dean as much as he could.

When he was eighteen, he ran. He ran away to Stanford, putting miles between himself and the hunting life, his family, _Dean_. Out of sight, out of mind. But it wasn’t that easy.

The first girl he had sex with was great. She was patient, and understanding, and gentle, and taught him exactly what to do to please a girl. He enjoyed himself, but it didn’t feel quite right to him. He remembers the experience, but he can’t remember her name.

The first guy he had sex with was even better. It was everything he had never admitted to himself that he imagined. There was something deeply satisfying about sex with men that he didn’t feel with girls, as much as he enjoyed them as well.

His first year of school, he had a roommate, who was a little more than a roommate sometimes. They weren’t together or anything, but sometimes they enjoyed each other under the covers, in the shower, and even on the kitchen table on one occasion. In between, he brought girls home, shooting a wink at Sam the way his brother used to.

Sam tried to pretend he wasn’t jealous. And that he didn’t miss Dean.

Then he met Jessica. At first, Jess was like the best friend he never had. He felt like he could be himself around her, well, more or less anyway. He never expected his relationship with her to go anywhere romantic, but he wasn’t upset that it did.

The first time she kissed him it was out of the blue. It was quick, only a peck. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she pushed their lips together, and Sam was taken too off guard to respond. Then, it was over as quickly as it had started, and she was backing off him with a sheepish look on her face.

“Sorry,” she said, “I just really wanted to do that.”

Sam shrugged, “I wasn’t complaining. You could do it again, if you wanted.”

She gave him a quizzical look, “Are you sure? I don’t want to ruin what we already have.”

Sam smirked, “Shut up and come here, Jess.”

She smiled back at him and it was breathtaking.

The second kiss was even better than the first. It was way more passionate, with her tongue in his mouth and his hands on her body, and so long overdue Sam hadn’t even realized.

“You know,” Jess said when they broke apart, “When I first met you, I thought you were gay.”

“I guess I’m bisexual,” Sam allowed.

Jess only nodded, “Well, lucky me, then.”

Sam had loved Jess, he really had, and he could’ve been with her forever, but all that flew out the window when Dean showed up.

 _It’s only one hunt_ , he’d told himself, _I’ll just help Dean find Dad and make it back for the interview. Back to school. Back to my life. Back to Jessica._

But then that _thing_ had killed Jess. It’d come back into his life and snatched any shot he had at normalcy away from him. Took his best friend, the only person he had ever truly loved besides Dean. The only one that made him feel like maybe he wasn’t broken, like maybe he wasn’t a freak.

He wanted to blame Dean. To have some reason to be angry at him. To be able to look into those green eyes and feel something other than _desire_. He’d repressed it for so long he thought he was over it, but now it was back full force and it made him feel sick.

When he found out about the demon’s plan for him, and about the blood, he blamed it on that. He and Dean had always been absurdly close for siblings, and he blamed his tainted blood for distorting that, for corrupting it and him until he had unholy desires for something that _should_ have just been a loving brotherly relationship.

 _Once we kill this demon_ , he’d said, _Once we find Dad._

_Once we figure this psychic thing out._

_Once we save these people._

_Once we get Dean out of his contract._

It was always just one more thing. One more thing keeping him with his brother against his better judgement.

When he learned about Dean’s deal, he felt helpless. He prayed every night.

“Please, God, save my brother,” he’d pray, “If Dean survives this, I’ll leave and never lay eyes on him again. I’ll never think about him like that, I won’t even say his name. Don’t punish Dean for my mistakes, please. It should have been me going to Hell, I know that. Don’t take my brother instead. He’s not like me, he’s _good_. He doesn’t deserve this. Please. _I love him_.”

He felt broken. He felt wrong. He felt like it was _his fault_.

He couldn’t save his brother.

As he sat on the floor, cradling his brother’s torn apart dead body, tears spilled uncontrollably from his eyes and he allowed himself to press a few chaste kisses to his brother’s head.

“Sam,” Bobby tried to comfort him, to make him see reason and let his brother’s corpse go, but he wasn’t having any of it.

He brought him home, got him cleaned up, got him ready for when he came back, because he _was coming back, damn it, he was coming back if it was the last thing Sam ever did._

But no demon wanted to deal, and either God was deaf or just plain cruel.

So he followed Ruby.

He buried his brother, and he followed the last shred of hope that he had at either getting his brother back from Hell, or killing the bitch who’d taken him from him.

And then a miracle happened.

Dean came _back_ to him.

He pulled his brother into a bone crushing hug the moment he knew it wasn’t a trick and he vowed to never let go. Screw his promises to God, God had let his brother die in the first place. Sam was never gonna leave his side ever again.

“Dean, I-” Sam had tried to say on the ride back to Bobby’s when they were alone in the Impala, but Dean didn’t let him get a word out.

“Please, come on, no chick flick moments, Sammy,” he said, “I missed you, too.”

He smiles, and Sam’s heart stops.

He doesn’t _need_ to say it. They’ve never needed to say it. They know, they would die for each other, _have_ died for each other, and there’s nothing stronger than this. Dean knows that he loves him. Dean doesn’t need to know how much. He doesn’t need to know how badly Sam wants him. How there’s nothing and no one else out there for him. How no one could ever be enough for him because they wouldn’t be _Dean_. He doesn’t need to know how he wants to get as close to his brother as is humanly possible, and then get even _closer_ , crawl inside his brother and drown in him, give himself over to him in the most physical of ways, because Dean already owns his heart, and he already owns his soul.

When Dean finds out about Ruby, he’s furious, and it’s the worst thing and the best thing that could have happened at the same time. Sam doesn’t want to lie to his brother, but he has to. He has to, to avoid seeing that terrified and disgusted look in his brother’s eyes. That look that breaks him.

He figures telling Dean he’s having sex with a demon is better than telling him he’s drinking her blood, and in some ways he’s right but in others he’s wrong.

Dean doesn’t just look disgusted, or disappointed. He looks furious. He grabs Sam by the collar and slams him against the wall, and Sam tries to tell his body that this is a fight, that it’s a threat, not something to get turned on at, but this is _Dean_ and since when has his body ever listened to him when it came to Dean?

“She’s a demon, Sam!” his brother yells at him, “How messed up do you have to be to crawl into bed with a demon? She’s not human, Sam! It’s not normal!”

“Yeah, well, I don’t have much experience in the way of normal,” Sam mutters, referring to how badly he wants to jump his brother’s bones at any given moment, but he supposes the rest of his life qualifies just as much.

“Yeah, well, you definitely crossed that line now,” Dean says darkly, “All this time, I’ve been in the pit and you’ve been shacking up _with a demon_? How could you do that?”

Sam failed to see how those two things correlated in Dean’s mind, but the betrayal was clear enough.

“Dean, she was helping me to find Lilith,” he explains, “I was trying to get you back, or avenge you at least.”

“Yeah, and I suppose you had to jump into bed with her to do that, huh, Sammy?” he spits, face just inches from Sam’s and Sam feels like he can’t breathe, “I suppose the secret to killing Lilith was between her legs?”

Dean smells like sweat and whiskey, and Sam’s head is clouded- he’s full of every breath that’s passed between them and he can’t think and he can’t _breathe_.

“Why do you care, anyway?” he asks angrily, frustrated at the proximity.

“Why do I _care?”_ Dean repeats incredulously, slamming Sam back into the wall a little more, then his face falls and he releases his grip on Sam’s collar and steps back, and it takes all of Sam’s willpower not to step forward in tandem and close the space between them again.

“God, Sammy, you can be so stupid sometimes,” Dean chuckles, smiling that broken smile that Sam knows means he’s hurting, knows it means end of conversation, but he doesn’t want it to be the end of the conversation. He’ll take Dean’s anger, he’ll take Dean yelling at him, because at least it’s _Dean_.

“Don’t,” Sam says, stepping toward his brother, “Don’t do that to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Dean just shakes his head, “Forget it, Sam.”

“Dean!” Sam shouts as his brother turns his back on him, “Just tell me what to do. Tell me how to fix this.”

“It’s not you, Sam,” Dean mutters, “I fucked up. I fucked up, and I paid for it, and I’m still paying for it. But I don’t regret any of it, Sam, because you’re alive. You’re alive and that’s what matters.”

Sam’s breath catches in his throat, “What do you mean, you fucked up? Making the deal, you mean?”

He shakes his head, “No, that was the right move. That’s the only move I’m sure was right, unlike everything I’m doing now.”

They’re inches apart, and Sam wants to touch him, to reach up and touch his face and tell him it’s okay, but he’s not sure what he’s talking about.

“What are you doing now?” Sam whispers, “What is this, Dean?”

Dean grimaces. He looks like he’s in pain, and Sam doesn’t know how to help him.

“God, Sam, just…” Dean breathes, “Just shut up.”

Then Dean is kissing him and Sam thinks he’s dreaming. Either that or he’s died and gone to Heaven.

One of Dean’s hands is in his hair, holding his face down against his so he doesn’t have to reach up so far. His lips are surprisingly soft, and they taste like whiskey, but he’s kissing him hard and rough, tongue probing past Sam’s teeth, and he gladly opens up his mouth to let him in. He bites Sam’s lip, and growls into his mouth, and Sam moans in response, his hands fisting in his brother’s shirt and he never wants to let him go. But all too soon, Dean is pulling away and Sam makes a noise of protest and holds on tight to him.

“Sam, we-”

“Don’t. Don’t, Dean,” Sam begs, “Don’t shut down now.”

Dean’s green eyes meet his, and they look absolutely _terrified_ , and Sam wants to hold him close and kiss his big brother’s fears away, the way Dean used to hold him when they were very little and Sam had a nightmare.

“Do- do you _want_ this?” Dean asks in just barely a whisper.

“God, yes, Dean, it’s all I’ve ever wanted,” Sam admits, secretly just as scared inside as Dean looks.

“Is that why you left?” Dean asks, a look of realization crossing his face, “That’s why you left us? And went to Stanford?”

Sam nods, and Dean _laughs_.

A long, hard laugh that is beautiful, but totally inappropriate given the context of the situation.

“Dean?” Sam asks warily, worried that he may have broken his brother.

“All of this time, I’ve been struggling to control myself around you… and I never had to,” Dean says breathlessly, “All this time I thought there was something wrong with me, when…”

“Dean,” Sam breathes, and it’s a question and an answer at the same time, a plea and a bargain, a sin and a prayer.

And when he leans down to kiss him again, Dean meets him halfway, and it’s gentler than their first kiss. There’s no rush, no sense of urgency, no need to get as much as they can of each other before the other one shuts it down. They both know they aren’t going anywhere.

Dean moves Sam’s hands away from his shirt impatiently so he can tug it off, and Sam follows suit, feeling like a teenager again, like a virgin who doesn’t know where to put his hands. They’re all over Dean’s back as he holds him to him, and Dean chuckles and gives his bottom lip a gentle nip and a playful tug. He’s looking at Sam with shining eyes, as if he was carved by gods and left on Dean’s doorstep purely for his pleasure, and Sam feels much the same way.

As his lips and tongue move languidly against his brother’s, he’s thanking God, or hell- even Satan, _whoever_ is responsible for bringing Dean back to him. Whoever dragged him up and left him on Sam’s doorstep so he could have this chance.

Sam takes a few clumsy steps forward, backing Dean into the edge of the motel bed, and he pushes him down and tumbles on top of him, unwilling to let go of his brother for even a second.

Dean laughs, laughs like he’s never been happier in his life, and he buries his hands in Sam’s hair as Sam kisses his way down his brother’s torso. Dean moans quietly in his throat, head falling back against the pillows, and it’s the most beautiful sound Sam has ever heard, a sound he’s heard countless times when Dean spent night after night with random one night stands but now it’s even better because _he_ made his brother sound like that. He made his brother- his big, overprotective brother who fought down all Sam’s fears and even faced _Hell_ to keep him safe- vulnerable, moaning under him and bucking his hips when Sam’s fingers finally find his zipper.

“Sam,” Dean grunts, “Come on, man, please.”

Sam can’t help but smile when Dean begs him, and his eyes meet Dean’s as he slowly pulls the zipper down and pops the button on his jeans.

“Please what, Dean?” he asks mischievously as he pulls Dean’s cock out of his pants.

Dean rolls his eyes and pushes his hips up into his brother’s hand, “Shut up and suck my cock, Sam.”

Sam chuckles, giddy with excitement, high on the feel of his brother under him as he lowers his head and sucks the tip of Dean’s cock into his mouth.

“ _Fuuuuuuck,_ Sammy,” Dean hisses, lifting his hips involuntarily and forcing more of his length past Sam’s lips. Sam swallows around it eagerly, swirling his tongue around it and letting Dean slowly fuck his mouth. “Fuck,” Dean grunts again, “Always knew that mouth would be the death of me.”

Sam laughs and moans around him, and Dean pulls on Sam’s hair, pulling his mouth away from his cock.

“Nope, nope,” he breathes, sitting up, “I ain’t coming like that. Not this time.”

Sam grins at the implication of a next time.

Dean holds his fist out, and it takes Sam a minute to realize what he’s doing.

“Dude, _no!”_ Sam laughs, “Not now.”

“Well, how else you wanna decide? Flip a coin?” Dean asks completely seriously.

“What do you _want_ to do, Dean?” he asks.

Dean just gives him a look and holds his fist out again.

Sam rolls his eyes and puts his fist up, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Of all the things we’re doing right now, _this_ is what you can’t believe?”

Dean picks scissors, of course, and Sam beats him. Dean doesn’t look disappointed, he grins from ear to ear and helps Sam undo his pants eagerly.

“You could’ve just told me you wanted to bottom,” Sam mumbles against his brother’s lips.

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean mutters back, finally getting Sam’s cock out, “Fuck. This is so unfair. I am _older_ than you, and you’re just bigger than me all over.”

Sam chuckles, but then Dean starts stroking him and he’s cut off mid-laugh by a loud, long moan.

“Shh, Sammy,” Dean murmurs gently, “I’m almost certain we told the girl at check-in that we’re brothers.”

“We could’ve lied,” Sam grits out, trying to hold back another moan.

Dean’s tongue darts out to run over his lips, and Sam’s eyes follow it hungrily. God, he wants Dean’s mouth on him, wants to be inside him, wants _more_.

“Fair point,” Dean grins, “Then by all means, be as loud as you want, baby brother.”

Sam groans and pushes Dean back against the mattress, pulling his jeans the rest of the way off and shucking his own pants away as well. Dean spreads his legs for him, and Sam wants to cry. He always imagined himself giving himself up to his big brother, but this was just so stereotypically _Dean_ , giving and giving and giving everything he had to Sam so that _Sam_ would be happy. Sam would’ve loved this moment either way.

“Sam, come on, snap out of it,” Dean grunts, “This isn’t exactly comfortable.”

“Umm… lube,” Sam manages to get out before getting off the bed to rummage through his bag, coming back with the little bottle, coating his fingers with it.

“You’ve done this before?” Dean notes.

Sam nods, not looking at him as he slips one finger slowly inside his brother.

“You usually the pitcher or the catcher?” Dean asks nonchalantly, as if Sam doesn’t have a finger buried in his ass at the moment.

“Umm, either or,” Sam mutters, going red.

“Huh,” Dean says, “I honestly never pegged you for a bottom.”

“Is this even doing anything for you?” Sam snaps in frustration.

“Well, you could add more,” Dean says, “This isn’t my first rodeo either, Sam, I’m not gonna break.”

Sam flushes, a wave of sudden jealousy rushing over him at the thought of someone else touching his brother this way.

He adds another finger, and before long he’s adding a third, and Dean is pushing down, fucking himself on Sam’s fingers, and making the most tantalizing little breathy noises and Sam thinks he might just come from the sight of this alone.

“God, Sammy, fuck. Just fuck me already!” Dean snaps, and Sam doesn’t need to be told twice. He pulls his fingers out and Dean _whines_ , reaching for his brother’s hips as he hooks his legs over his shoulders.

Sam pushes in slowly, watching Dean’s face as he goes to gauge his comfort. Dean is hot and tight around him and he’s not sure he’ll last long, and he thinks Dean’s in the same boat if the look on his face is anything to go by.

“Fuck. Sam. Just. _Move!”_ he begs.

“Are you sure?”

“The fuck do you mean, _am I sure?_ It’s a little late to be having second thoughts now, don’t you think?”

“I just don’t want to hurt you, Dean,” Sam mumbles.

Dean’s expression softens, and he rests one hand on the side of Sam’s face, eyes meeting his, shining with reassurance, “Hey. I trust you, little brother.”

And that’s all he needs to hear.

The tiny motel room is filled with heavy breaths, the sounds of skin on skin, and a chorus of moans that fall from both of their lips in a mantra of, “Oh, Dean, oh, Dean, oh,” and, “Fuck, Sam, Sammy, fuck, fuck, baby brother, fuck.”

When Sam feels the heat pool low in his belly, he reaches between them and grabs Dean’s cock to stroke him as he fucks him, and pull him over the edge with him.

Dean comes first, with a moan of, “Oh, _Sammy!”_ tearing its way from his over worked lungs. Sam is close behind, spilling into his brother and crying out into his mouth as Dean pulls him down for a post-bliss kiss.

Sam’s body jerks a couple more times as he chases his orgasm and he almost doesn’t notice the way Dean smooths back his sweaty hair and murmurs, “That’s right, baby brother, ride it out.”

He collapses on top of his brother, and they lay like that for a while, Dean’s arms wrapped around Sam’s body, their breaths coming in shallow gasps. Finally, when their lungs are full and their eyes are heavy, Dean says, “Get off me, man, I’m sticky.”

Sam chuckles and rolls over on the bed and Dean gets up to go to the bathroom and clean up.

When he comes back, Sam’s worried he’ll panic about everything they just did.

“Dean-” he starts, but Dean holds a hand up to stop him.

“I love you,” Dean says, surprising him.

“What?”

“What? Is it a surprise? It didn’t _need_ saying, Sam, we both know it didn’t need saying. But you needed to hear it, so…” he trails off.

“I love you, too,” Sam says after a minute of contemplative silence.

“Good,” Dean says, sliding back into the bed next to him, “Now if you’re done being a total wuss, I’m beat.”

Sam chuckles, “Jerk.”

“Bitch,” he replies with a yawn, “Goodnight.”

“Night, Dean,” he mumbles.

Maybe he wasn’t broken after all. Maybe someone, somewhere- whoever had pulled Dean out of Hell- had heard his prayer, had known his brother felt the same way, and had decided to give them a fighting chance.

Maybe this was one thing in his life he actually got right.

With Dean beside him, nothing else mattered.

As long as they were together.


End file.
